


azaghîth

by DarthLivion (DistantShenanigans)



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Afterlife, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Afterlife, Alternate Universe of a Fic, Character Death, Child Death, GFY, Gen, Gift Fic, Original Character Death(s), Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-08
Updated: 2017-09-08
Packaged: 2018-12-25 05:40:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12029325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DistantShenanigans/pseuds/DarthLivion
Summary: Sansûkh AUAs it lunged, Wee Thorin swung out his axe as he let out a terrified shriek. He remembered nothing else.





	azaghîth

**Author's Note:**

  * For [determamfidd](https://archiveofourown.org/users/determamfidd/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Sansûkh](https://archiveofourown.org/works/855528) by [determamfidd](https://archiveofourown.org/users/determamfidd/pseuds/determamfidd). 



> I've spent like, over a year??? Trying to write this for Dets??? The ending could be better but at the same time, this is all I could manage to crack out. It's been a trying year to get this damn thing done tbh lmao
> 
> I own nothing, and Dets owns Wee Thorin, and as far as I know, they own Hrera, too.

“Bet I taste horrible,” Wee Thorin clutched his axe in shaking hands. The Orc before him was terrifying, but he would stay strong, and be brave. Like his adad and amad. Like Uncle Balin. “Bet I make you _choke_.”

“Well, we won't know until we try!” The Orc sneered, and moved quickly towards him. As it lunged, Wee Thorin swung out his axe as he let out a terrified shriek.

He remembered nothing else.

=0=0=0=

It was very bright, where he found himself, and he didn't hurt, but he was cold. He felt naked as a newborn bairn, and his nose scrunched a bit at that. He hated being naked, but mostly he hated being cold, and here he was both. He wrapped his arms around himself.

“Welcome, my inùdoy.” Thorin jumped and looked around, though he couldn't see now.

“Who's there?” He asked.

“I am Mahal.” The voice said, and the dwarfling froze.

“N-no!” He began to cry. “No! I can't be dead! I can't be! Amad! Adad! Nadadîth!” There was suddenly a large hand on his head, and a large finger wiping away his tears.

“Nukhshel, inùdoy! But you can be, and are. Your parents and brothers are still among the living.” Mahal's voice rumbled with grief. “And you are here, safe within my halls.”

His words only made Thorin feel worse, and he cried more.

“Nidoyel, you will learn... Here, you are with family. Your grandfather, your uncle...” Mahal ushered the boy through a door, if he heard correctly, and he heard a familiar voice let out a cry, before he was covered in a blanket, and held.

“Oh, nidoyel... Oh, my azaghîth...” He heard his uncle's voice, and he clung to him. “You were so brave, my boy.” He was held until his tears stopped, and then led to a chamber with a bed, where he was tucked in. He didn't fight the sleep that overtook him, though he didn't know how the dead could sleep.

He slept a lot, and when he was awake and groggy he occasionally could hear voices, and his vision was getting better, but always blurry when someone was there. He remembered being nudged to eat between his long bouts of sleep, but other than that, he didn't remember much else after finding out he was dead.

When he fully awoke, he was by himself. Sitting up, he looked around and found that he was surrounded by a small dresser, a bookshelf, a desk, and a small chest at the foot of the bed he was in. In a fit of curiosity, he climbed out of bed and began to explore the room. It must be his, right?

Why would he be here otherwise?

He found some clothes in the dresser, and managed to change into them. He left the ties of his tunic undone, and one of the sides of it liked to slide down his shoulder. He paid it no mind, though he tied his trousers in place as he searched for anything to wear on his feet. Unsuccessful in his search, he scratched his head, before blinking in realization that his hair was undone.

When his stomach growled, he frowned a small pout, and decided his hair wasn't worth starving over. He opened the door of the room, finding shining bright halls, and he poked his head out. Finding a few dwarrows walking about, he left the room and picked a direction, looking around as he went. It took him a while before he found the dining hall, and when he did, a soft cry drew his attention.

“Is that him? Dwalin's boy?” A second voice asked, and Thorin looked towards the two, and interrupted the third voice with a cry of his own.

“Uncle Balin!” He ran over to the three, and was tugged up onto the bench next to his uncle. He hugged the old dwarf tightly, sniffling.

“Oh, his hair is atrocious!” Someone cried, “And why is his tunic undone?” Thorin looked away from his uncle to the dwarrowdam, confusion on his face.

“Now, Hrera, the lad woke up alone, I doubt he cares about that.” Another dwarf chuckled.

“Should we mention his bare feet?” Another dwarf chuckled. Thorin pressed a bit closer to his uncle, feeling like a small dwarfling again; afraid of everything and anything.

“Oh, nidoyel, you're safe.” Balin said, “I promise, nobody here shall hurt you.”

“Kharkel...” Thorin murmured, and a chuckle came from the dwarrow that had talked about his bare feet.

“Azaghîth, I am Fundin, your sigin'adad.” Thorin felt his eyes widen a bit at learning who the old dwarrow was, and upon learning that the other dwarrow was Thrór, and the dwarrowdam was Thrór's wife, Hrera, Thorin was adult enough, or perhaps childish enough?, to admit that he was a bit star-struck.

It didn't really matter, anyways, until he met someone he grew up calling uncle, despite him having been dead before Thorin had been born.

Oakenshield was less of a brave and noble king, and more of a doofus, in Thorin's opinion.

Some blond kid had howled with laughter when Thorin informed the entire table of that.

It was definitely worth Uncle Balin grounding him for being rude.

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Khuzdul Translations:
> 
> amad - mother  
> adad - father  
> inùdoy - son  
> Nadadîth - little brother(s)  
> Nukhshel - sorrow of all sorrows  
> nidoyel - boy of all boys  
> azaghîth - little warrior  
> Kharkel - fright of all frights* (*alarm (feeling)  
> sigin'adad - grandfather


End file.
